


Of Idiots and Prats

by CreateImagineWrite



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Magic Revealed, Stubborn Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreateImagineWrite/pseuds/CreateImagineWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur walks in on Merlin performing magic, and doesn't quite react the way Merlin would have expected him to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translation by LeGSmile can be found here: http://ficbook.net/readfic/888211

Merlin settled back into one of the chairs in Arthur’s room, allowing himself to relax while his magic did his chores for him. Arthur wasn’t due back until evening, having gone on an impromptu hunting trip that Gaius had refused to allow the warlock to go on, since he had a rather lingering cough that the physician felt the cold would irritate further.

Smiling slightly, he flicked his hand in a casual gesture and watched with satisfaction as the armour started polishing itself while the scrub brush went to work on the floor, the bed smoothing out as if made by invisible hands.

 _The invisible servant, that’s me,_ he thought wryly, his smile faltering as a cough ripped from his chest. He winced and rubbed his ribs comfortingly. As soon as this was finished he was going through his magic books to find a spell to fix the blasted illness. He _liked_ not feeling like his lungs were full of shards of glass, thank you very much!

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur rummaged through his saddle bags, trying to find his knife. He was sure he’d grabbed it, but it wasn’t in its typical sheath in his boot, nor did it appear to be in the bags. Normally, he would’ve blamed Merlin, but with his manservant ill, he’d gotten a different servant to pack for him, and there was no way the man had known to bring that particular knife. He sighed, irritated. 

“Sire?” Leon asked, his horse trotting up next to Arthur’s. “Are we to be on our way?”

“I’ve forgotten something. I’ll go fetch it and then we can be on our way.”

“Of course, sire. Shall I find you a servant?”

“No, I’ll get it. They wouldn’t be able to find it anyways.” He remembered rather clearly where he’d left it now, buried beneath a stack of paper on his desk. He turned on his heel and strode back into the castle.

Minutes later, he found himself before the doors of his chambers. A hacking cough sounded from behind the wooden panels, and he winced sympathetically. Merlin sounded horrible. It was probably good he wasn’t coming with them on the trip. He shoved the door open as the coughing continued, and then froze.

His armour was hovering in midair… cleaning itself. A scrub brush spread suds around on the floor, and his discarded clothes were neatly folding themselves into a pile.

And Merlin, foolish, idiotic, completely stupid Merlin, was sitting at his table, wincing as he rubbed his chest.

Arthur took a faltering step forward, eyes widening.

His manservant leapt up and spun to face him at the sound of his footsteps, and all the magic in the room promptly stopped, Arthur’s armour clattering to the ground in a heap.

“Um,” Merlin laughed weakly into the profound silence after the helmet had stopped rattling against the stone floor. He took a wary step back from his King. “I can explain?”

Arthur just shut the door behind him and arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

Merlin swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling extremely dry. Explain this? It’d be easier to jump out the window. And Arthur was just standing there, arms crossed across his chest, expression unreadable. Maybe he _should_ jump out the window. It might be a less painful death than what his King had in mind.

“Um, actually…” He swallowed nervously again. “I don’t know if I can explain all that well.”

“That’s what I thought.” The King uncrossed his arms and strode past his manservant to his desk, pushing aside the papers until he found the dagger he’d been looking for.

Merlin took a shaky step away, eyes fixed on the weapon, but Arthur just sheathed it in his boot and strode back towards the door.

“Well then, I’m off. You just go back to whatever you were doing, Merlin.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Merlin standing, stunned, in the center of his chambers.

 _Wait… what?!_ He stared at the doors as the swung closed, heart beating fast. _What just happened? Did Arthur just give me permission to_ keep _doing magic?_

He unfroze his feet from the floor and threw himself through the door, sprinting after his King.

“Arthur!” He clapped a hand on his King’s shoulder and spun him around to face him, his expression one of disbelief, chest heaving from the short run. “Did you just… what do you… You… really?”

“As coherent as ever, I see,” the royal stated imperiously. “I would’ve thought you’d have been pleased.”

Merlin stared at him for a second. “Did you… did you know?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, but it makes sense.”

The warlock continued staring, mouth open in disbelief, and then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done with Arthur?”

The King snorted. “Really Merlin, you’ve been my manservant for nearly a decade. I think I can trust _you_. And anyways, you’re the one who’s always telling me that magic isn’t all evil.”

He gaped at the royal, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I didn’t expect you to actually _listen._ ”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, _Mer_ lin, Kings do actually listen to their advisors.”

“But… but…” The warlock shook his head violently from side to side, as if doing that would make the vision before his eyes go away.

The King clapped Merlin on the shoulder and smiled. “I’ve been thinking my father was wrong for a while now. And anyways, you are most definitely not evil.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or are you?”

Merlin’s eyes widened and he shook his head even more vigorously. “No! Definitely not! I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Camelot.”

Arthur grinned again. “Good. Well then, we shall discuss this when I return.” He turned to go.

Merlin let him, rooted to the spot with stunned disbelief. _But… but…_ _wait just one second…_ He must have spent the better part of his nights in Camelot just lying awake at night contemplating the ceiling feeling guilty for not telling Arthur. He had spent hours in the dark imagining how his King would react if he _did_ summon the courage to tell him. He’d always imagined it would be violently, that he’d be threatened with something painful or at least yelled at. In the times he’d tried to imagine the scene, there had been a cool, collected Arthur who called for the guards and had him burned at the stake. Or there was an angry Arthur who tried to run him through with a sword. But never had he imagined that the King would just… just… _walk away!_ Like it didn’t matter! Like there’d never been a point to worrying in the first place!

His disbelief was quickly replaced with anger. “You know what? No!” He growled, stalking after his King and grabbing him by the shoulder to spin him around again, glaring. “You’re supposed to be angry with me!”

Arthur stared at him blankly for a second. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I’ve been keeping secrets from you for years! I broke the law! You… you _hate_ magic. You told me so!”

The King raised an eyebrow in an expression strangely reminiscent of Gaius. “I’m not allowed to change my mind?”

Merlin glared at him, disbelief squashing any relief he’d felt. “No! You aren’t, actually!”

Arthur looked flabbergasted. “What do you mean?” he spluttered. “Do you _want_ me to be mad at you?”

The warlock crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes! I did not spend the last decade worrying about you finding out for you to just accept it, just like _that_!” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

The King laughed, a grin spreading across his face. “But I’m _not_ mad at you. I understand why you didn’t tell me. I didn’t exactly give you any encouragement that I wouldn’t burn you at the stake, so why should you have felt obliged to tell me? And you’re completely loyal to me, so it’s not like I need to worry about you using magic against Camelot. Why should I be mad at you?

“BECAUSE I’VE BEEN WORRYING ABOUT IT FOREVER!” Merlin’s angry shout irritated his throat, and he had to stop as a hacking cough ripped from his lungs. He took a moment to regain his breath, and then returned to glaring at the annoyingly concerned-looking King, who held out a hand as if to steady him after the coughing fit. He stepped away, refusing the gesture. “I’ve let you reap the reward for things I’ve done. I’ve lain awake feeling horrible for lying to you. I’ve worried constantly about using my magic and you finding out! And it didn’t even matter!” 

The King’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. I would’ve thought you would be _pleased_. Do you want to be executed?”

“No! Yes… I don’t know!” The warlock threw his arms in the air, and his conflicted emotions burst out through his magic, a halo of fire erupting around his brunette locks.

Arthur stared at it curiously. “That’s never happened when you’ve been upset before.”

“Probably because I’ve never been _this_ upset!” His raised voice cracked before the last word, and he had to supress another cough.

“Look, Merlin,” the King began gently. “You’re sick and tired. Just go to bed. You’re reacting all wrong.”

“No! You are!” The flames flared white hot.

Arthur reached out towards him, concern in his features. “Merlin…”

“No!” He took a step away, emotions rising further, and Arthur’s hand met a solid shimmering barrier in mid-air. “You’re supposed to be angry with me.” His angry expression faltered, replaced with something that resembled a hurt puppy. “Does me lying really not mean anything to you? I thought…”

The royal made an exasperated noise. “Merlin! Stop being such a _girl_. Is me not being a prat really that hard to accept?”

Merlin gave him a hard look. “Yes, actually,” he practically whispered, his fiery halo fading as steely resolve filled his blue eyes, and then he sprinted away.

Arthur stared as the lithe frame of his manservant disappeared down the hall, and as such didn’t notice when the shimmering barrier he’d been unconsciously leaning into vanished, nearly sending him toppling to the ground.

He regained his balance after a moment of completely graceless flailing, and then sprinted off after the stupid sorcerer. “ _Mer_ lin!”

He caught up to the man just as he reached the busier part of the castle. The brunette was leaning over his knees, coughing in a way that made Arthur’s chest hurt sympathetically.

“Merlin! Stop this at once!”

“No! Not until you take me seriously!” He stood tall, suddenly looking less like a weakling and more like the powerful magician he was.

Servants were frozen throughout the hall, interspersed with Knights who watched this exchange with amusement, probably expecting one of the typical Arthur-Merlin fights with their witty banter and underlying camaraderie.

Arthur had a sneaking suspicion as to what his manservant was going to do, in front of all these people, who had absolutely no idea that he was going to get rid of the ban on magic. “Don’t,” he began, but the idiot cut him off.

“I’m a sorcerer!” Merlin yelled, and then he promptly proved the statement by shouting a phrase in the ancient language that the King didn’t catch. Fire exploded over the man’s frame, apparently not hurting him. “I was born with it,” he yelled even louder as the flame began to flee from his frame, resembling water as it poured off his limbs, “And my father was Balinor! I am the last dragonlord!” The flames completely abandoned the manservant’s frame and took shape, so that a fiery dragon looped itself around the warlock’s neck, flapping flaming wings. His voice changed completely as he spoke again, turning into a low roar that seemed to shake the very castle’s foundation. “And I have broken the law.”

Arthur stared at him and the impressive piece of magic that seemed to take up the corridor, exasperation and fear clogging his throat as he saw the expressions on some of his Knights’ faces.

One of them ripped his sword out of its sheath and threw himself towards Merlin, battle cry on his lips. The King cried out and took a frantic step forward, but he needn’t have worried. The warlock flicked his hand dismissively and the man flew backwards, skidding on his backside down the hall, as his sword turned into a long-stemmed rose.

“Now then,” Merlin said, grinning in a completely self-satisfied manner. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the dungeons.”

And he stalked off, leaving servants and nobles alike cowering against the walls, while Arthur stared after him and his fiery conjured dragon, which flicked its flaming tail in a gleeful way as it took off and soared above the sorcerer’s head.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Mer_ lin! Let me into this cell at _once_!” Arthur growled, his tone exasperated as his key refused to turn in the workings of the dungeon cell’s lock.

“No,” the warlock replied, crossing his arms from where he stood on the other side of the bars, eyes glowing as he used magic to resist the turning of the key. 

The King gave up, letting go of the key. He’d come down here with the intention of opening the cell and dragging the idiot out, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.

He crossed his arms and glared at his friend in turn. If this was going to be a battle of wills, he was by far the more stubborn.

A voice interrupted their glaring contest. “I was going to ask you why you’ve locked Merlin in a cell, but it seems to be the opposite,” Gwaine stated, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

“ _Mer_ lin is being an idiot,” Arthur stated exasperatedly, turning to his knight.

“That’s not unusual,” Gwaine pointed out, stepping up next to the cell door to look in at the furious warlock. “But why is he in the dungeon?”

Merlin made an unhappy noise. “Arthur is being a prat.”

“I am _not_! For once I’m actually being reasonable!”

“Making me worry about something for absolutely no reason is reasonable?” Merlin asked, glaring at him.

Arthur threw his arms up in the air. “I give up. _You_ try to get him to come out of the cell, Gwaine.” He stalked out of the dungeon.

Gwaine watched him go with a confused air. “Could someone _please_ explain what’s going on?”

Merlin sighed. “I have magic,” he said casually.

“Really,” Gwaine stated drily. “I didn’t notice.”

The warlock glowered at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Really, our ‘luck’ when we’re on quests is a bit telling, wouldn’t you think?”

“So you knew?” Merlin asked, looking slightly relieved underneath the layer of deep irritation.

“Yes. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re in the dungeon,” Gwaine pointed out.

“Arthur just _accepted_ it,” Merlin growled, and fire bloomed above his brunette locks again.

The Knight’s eyebrows furrowed together. “I don’t understand. Isn’t that a _good_ thing?”

Merlin flung his arms in the air, flaming halo flaring white hot. “ _NO!_ Because I’ve spent the last who-knows-how-long feeling _guilty_ about not telling him, and worrying about it, and wondering how he would kill me when he did find out, and as it turns out, he doesn’t even _care_. Apparently my friendship means so little to him that the biggest lie I’ve ever told doesn’t remotely matter!”

“Ah,” Gwaine murmured. “I’m sure that’s not how Arthur means it, mate. He just wants to accept you as you are, even if that includes your magic. He cares about you. I think you’re overreact-“

“If _one_ more person tells me I’m overreacting,” Merlin hissed, cutting him off, “I will curse them for the rest of their life.” He brandished a hand menacingly, and blue sparks spilled off his fingers.

The Knight swallowed. “Merlin, I really don’t think locking yourself in a cell is the best way to go about this.”

“Well, what you think doesn’t really matter. I am staying here until Arthur chooses to react properly.” He turned to face the window in an obvious dismissal.

Gwaine looked at him for a second, then turned to go. As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard the warlock release a hacking cough, and sighed. Great, Merlin had magic, was upset with Arthur, and had locked himself in a dungeon, _while_ having a cold. Gaius was going to kill him.


	2. Part 2

“What do you mean? Merlin’s in the dungeon?” Gaius asked severely, his eyebrows rising as he gave Gwaine the ‘look’ he was so famous for.

The handsome knight cringed inwardly. “Apparently Arthur walked in on him performing magic.”

“What?!” The elderly physician was on his feet faster than Gwaine would have thought possible for someone of his age.

He raised his hands quickly. “Wait! Let me finish! Arthur didn’t lock him up. Apparently he accepted it without a second thought and… Merlin didn’t like that very much. Said something about having worried about telling him for ages and if Arthur really cared he would have reacted somehow. So he locked himself in the dungeon. Won’t come out for any of us.”

“He locked himself in the dungeon?” Gaius asked slowly.

The brunette knight nodded solemnly. “I tried to tell him he was overreacting, but he threatened to curse the next person who did.”

“Oh dear,” the physician sighed and sat down again, rubbing a wrinkled hand over his furrowed brow. “I need to speak to the King.”

“To Arthur? But what about Merlin?”

Gaius graced him with a half-smile. “There wouldn’t be any point. Once that boy gets an idea in his head, there’s rarely any way you can sway him from it.”

A candle-mark later, Gaius was standing in the throne room before an irritated looking King Arthur, who had his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“I really doubt you’ll be able to convince him to come out of that cell, sire. Merlin can be very…” He searched for a word to describe his ward’s temperament when it came to such matters.

“Idiotic?” Arthur supplied, his voice an angry growl.

“Well… yes,” Gaius answered.

The royal sighed. “Is it really that hard for him to believe that I can accept him for who he is? What did he expect me to do? Run him through with a sword?”

The physician grimaced. “I would suspect so, sire.”

Arthur visibly deflated, looking more like the child Gaius remembered than the strong King he had become. “I understand why he didn’t tell me. I mean, you’d think he could trust me after all these years, but we never really talked about magic much…” His voice trailed off and then came back more strongly, his brow furrowing once more. “What I don’t understand is why he didn’t tell me about Balinor. I would’ve understood that. God, Gaius… when he died, I told Merlin no man was worth his tears, but that… that was his _father_. And he was so upset afterwards, and I thought it was about something stupid…” He ran his hand through his hair, looking lost.

“Your father persecuted dragonlords just as much as he did sorcerers, sire,” the elderly man stated reasonably. “Did you ever tell Merlin you wouldn’t think any less of him if he was either?”

“I…No…I guess not,” Arthur sighed. “I just wish he could accept it. I trust him with my life. I probably trust him even more than Guinevere on occasion… Not that you should ever tell her that,” he added hurriedly.

Gaius smiled benignly. “Of course, sire.” He privately thought that the Queen knew perfectly well that Merlin was just as dear to Arthur as herself, though the stubborn man might not be willing to admit it, and was quite glad of it. For all she loved the King, even _she_ couldn’t stand to bear the full brunt of all his attentions, Arthur being the somewhat physical type. If he was off play-fighting with Merlin or dragging the reluctant manservant on a hunt somewhere, she was perfectly content to act as Queen without him by her side.

“I suppose there’s no way _you_ could convince him to come out. He’s got that dreadful cough, and I’m hardly going to announce that I’m going to execute him just because that’ll make him happier. I could never do that.”

The physician shook his head. “He’s made up his mind, and I’m afraid that if that’s where he wants to stay, there’s very little I can do about it. I may be able to convince him to take some medicine, but if he’s set on getting a reaction out of you, I doubt I can sway him.”

Arthur sighed, unsurprised. “I thought not. Thank you, Gaius.” He turned away, looking contemplatively out of the window at the setting sun. He’d probably expected to be out enjoying a trip with the knights, not trying to convince his ill manservant to come out of the dungeons.

“Goodnight, sire,” Gaius said, bowing slightly out of habit, though the royal wasn’t looking his way, and ambled off towards his chambers to find a cough potion to bully a certain stubborn warlock into taking.

* * *

 

Arthur let out a sigh as the doors closed behind the elderly man, and ran a hand restlessly through his golden hair. He’d truly never thought that his clumsy manservant – and friend, he’d admit it, if not out loud – could be a sorcerer. Of course, until now he’d never stopped long to think about the marvelous amount of luck he and his men seemed to have whenever Merlin was about, what with falling tree branches and unforeseen rockslides in their favour. It didn’t bother him. He had little against magic, and was fully aware that Druids were venturing farther out of the forests and even into Camelot itself since his father’s death.

He wasn’t angry at Merlin for not trusting him, for not telling him. He had never given the man any reason to believe that he would treat sorcerers any different than his father had. And he had killed a good many sorcerers during his reign, but for very valid reasons, as they all seemed to be trying to kill him or those he loved. Just because some were evil didn’t mean that all were, and the Druids were a fair example, being a peace-loving people despite their magic. The idea of _Merlin_ being evil was laughable.

No, he wasn’t angry at Merlin. He was angry at himself, for never proving that his manservant could trust him, even with secrets as dark as the ones he’d revealed today. He was angry that he had never changed the opinion his friend had, that he would succumb to a fit of rage, even towards one of his oldest friends, when he discovered he’d been lied to.

He was disgusted that somehow, even after all the years they’d fought evil side by side, Merlin had still seen him as someone who would turn upon their friends at the slightest chance. He could never kill Merlin, or harm him in any way. He might bash him around a bit with a sword on occasion, but that was more to ensure the man had a better chance of surviving in battle than anything else. To harm the warlock would be the same as harming a part of himself.

The look on his friend’s face when he’d picked up the dagger from his desk… Arthur shuddered, running a hand over his face. He’d really thought that he was going to attack him.

The touch of a small hand on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie, and he leapt a bit, before turning to see the beautiful face of his beloved wife.

“Arthur, are you alright?” she asked, lowering her hand.

“Oh, Guinevere! You startled me.”

“I noticed,” she said wryly. “I hope you were thinking about how you were going to explain to me why you’ve locked Merlin in the dungeon, because you’re going to need a _very_ good explanation.”

After he’d explained, hurriedly, with much apologizing for getting into this situation, her icy look had faded, replaced first by a perplexed expression and then the frown of one who is much put-upon.

As he finished, she sighed. “Really, Arthur, the solution is quite simple.”

The King frowned at her, confused. “If you’re going to tell me to go along with his ridiculous…”

“No,” the Queen gave him a look of affectionate exasperation. “All you need to do is send for his mother.” 


	3. Part 3

Two days later, Arthur was sitting at the round table, discussing court matters with the council (which he was nearly sure his father had left behind after his death just to spite him). Merlin had yet to budge from his spot on the far side of the dungeon cell, and the door of said cell had been long since permanently locked with magic, a fact Gwaine had learned the hard way.

The door was cursed to given anyone who touched it a rather nasty shock, which not only threw them into the wall, but also made their hair stand completely on end for hours afterwards. The Knight was currently sulking at the edges of the council chamber, hair still more up than down, despite the hours that had passed since the incident. Gwaine did not appreciate people messing with his hair. Arthur had a feeling he wasn’t going to forgive Merlin for that for a while yet.

As he tried not to fall asleep to the droning voice of an elderly minister of finance, who was going on about some rubbish regarding taxes and other such nonsense about raising them, they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Arthur called, thankful he would not have to once again remind the council that their coffers were full and they had no need to take more money from his already poor subjects.

A young man entered the chamber, the red sash tied around his waist like a belt a symbol of his status as messenger. The King recognized him as the one he had sent to Ealdor.

“Y…Your Majesty,” the boy stuttered, wringing his hands nervously.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He had sent for Hunith, and the messenger had returned alone. This did not bode well for the messenger. “Yes?” he asked icily.

The boy gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing comically as he reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder. “S…sire,” he managed. “I went to Ealdor, but Hunith, she… she…” He held out a scroll of parchment, apparently unable to go on.

Arthur stood and took the message from him, sighing. “Well, go on, then,” he told the boy, deciding he had intimidated the lad enough. It was hardly his fault if Hunith had refused to come back with him.

The messenger looked about to faint with relief. “Th…thank you, sire.” He turned and left hurriedly, probably to make sure the King didn’t change his mind and decide to punish him for not managing his orders anyways.

Arthur broke open the simple wax seal on the scroll, secretly pleased at the amount of fear he’d managed to instill in the lad.

 _King Arthur,_ the message read, _I am sure you imagined I would be speaking to you in person, but I’m afraid there would be little use to it. Don’t be too hard on the messenger. He looked positively faint when I said I wouldn’t be returning with him._

 _I’m afraid that if Merlin has his mind set on staying in that cell, not even I could convince him to come out. If he won’t listen to_ your _orders, as the King, do you really think he would listen to his mother? He spent half of his childhood running around casting spells when I specifically told him not to._

_Heavens knows he never inherited his stubbornness from me. You would think he would be pleased that you’d accepted him for who he is. I, for one, am thankful to you._

_I cannot, however, leave Ealdor and the farm for a trip that would do little good. While it would be highly entertaining to see Merlin get his way, I have things to tend to here. I wish you the best of luck._

_Sincerely, Hunith_

Arthur stared at the strokes of ink on the paper blankly for a second, silently stunned at the bluntness of her sentences.

He was startled from his contemplation by an uncouth snort at his shoulder, and startled, turning to face Gwaine, who had apparently been reading over his shoulder. That man had _no_ sense of personal space!

“Merlin obviously inherited his disregard of royalty from his mother, at any rate,” the Knight stated, oblivious to Arthur’s discomfort.

At least the man’s sense of humor and swordsmanship made up for his many failings. Arthur snorted with laughter, before reading the letter a second time, not noticing the glares some of his council members were giving him.

“Sire,” the elderly fellow who had been droning on earlier spoke, an edge to his tone. “The council meeting…?”

“Is adjourned,” Arthur stated. “I have matters to attend to.”

The man spluttered indignantly, but the King was already halfway out the door, Gwaine on his heels.

“I should find that messenger and offer him a drink in thanks,” the Knight exclaimed, pulling a flask of something undoubtedly alcoholic from somewhere about his person. “That was the most boring council meeting I’ve ever had to attend.”

“A necessary evil,” the King agreed wholeheartedly, casting a glance at the letter again, feeling a bit put out. Guinevere had been so certain…

“Looks like you’re going to have to do as Merlin says,” Gwaine stated, taking a swig out of the flask.

Arthur made a disgruntled noise. “He’s supposed to do as I say, not the other way around,” he grumbled petulantly under his breath.

The Knight heard anyways, and snorted, choking on whatever he’d just taken a drink of. Once he’d recovered, he looked up at his liege with watering eyes, partly from choking and partly from mirth. “When has Merlin _ever_ done what you say?”

* * *

 

Gaius scanned the letter the King had handed him, suppressing a smile at Hunith’s bluntness. It was easy to see where Merlin got it from. “I’m afraid she’s quite right, sire. Merlin rarely listens to anyone.” 

Arthur sighed exasperatedly, pacing dangerously close to the delicate vials set upon the physician’s table, which rattled in the wake of the royal’s passage. “All-powerful warlock or not, there’s got to be a way to get him to come out.” He cast his elderly mentor a pleading look.

Gaius shook his head. “I’m afraid that I’m fresh out of ideas, sire. You may have to do as he says.”

The King stopped his pacing and stared at him. “Do you _want_ me to execute him?”

The physician’s mouth quirked upwards in a half-smile. “As tempting as the offer is, no, I’d rather my ward were alive.”

“Then _why_ does everyone keep saying I should do as he says? He wants me to punish him!”

Gaius shook his head slightly. “He doesn’t _want_ you to punish him, sire. He wants a reaction. He probably imagined that in a best case scenario, you’d find out, lock him up for a while, set an execution date, and then change your mind last minute and stop the proceedings.

“He has a rather poor opinion of me,” Arthur managed, resuming his pacing, his hands finding their way into his hair, a nervous habit.

“On the contrary,” the elderly man stated, “he has a rather poor opinion of himself.”

The King shot him a quizzical look. “How so?”

“He doesn’t believe that he is worthy of your trust. He’s been lying to you for a very long time, and he hates himself for it. He likely doesn’t think that you _should_ trust him at all.”

“Idiot,” Arthur stated, frowning. “Not you,” he added hurriedly at the physician’s affronted expression. “Him, Merlin, I mean. Even without his magic, he’s always saving me. He’s saved my life more times than I can count, and probably even more if we factor in all the times he’s cast spells to help me and my men in battle. He’d be a knight if he weren’t so useless with a blade.” He stopped pacing again and drummed his fingers against the table, frowning. The vials rattled again, one of them moving dangerously close to edge. “He’s perfectly worthy of my trust. Though apparently I’m not worthy of his, seeing as I’ve never managed to assure him that his secrets were safe with me.”

Gaius nearly sagged with relief as the King began pacing again, and moved forward quickly when the royal’s back was turned to save the vial from falling. As it was a mixture of slug slime and frog guts, which he occasionally needed to use in certain potions, it would not have been pleasant to clean up, and with Merlin in the dungeon, it would have fallen to him to do so. “It’s not your fault, sire. If anything it’s the fault of the Great Purge.”

Arthur snorted. “My father’s fault, you mean.”

Gaius pursed his lips together. “It’s not my place to say, your majesty.”

The royal smiled at him, eyes soft. “I’m not him, Gaius. You don’t have to hide your opinion from me.”

“Be that as it may,” the physician stated. “It is not your fault. You are a different King.”

One of Arthur’s hands returned nervously to his hair, and he sighed. “So, you’re saying that I have to pretend to be angry with Merlin, and play along with his stupid ideas?”

“It would appear so.”

The King returned to pacing. “Well, I can’t just go down there and pretend to be angry, after everything I’ve said to him.” He chewed on a fingernail for second, and then turned and glanced at Gaius. “Is there anything he’s done that would make me upset? I’m sure not everything he did was for me.”

The Physician looked at him blankly for a second, suddenly unable to think of anything. _A thousand curses on old age!_ “Er…” he thought for a second. “Oh! He released the Great Dragon.”

The King’s jaw dropped, and Gaius flinched inwardly as he belatedly remembered the consequences of that action, however necessary it had been. Maybe he should have said something else, like the fact the dragon egg hadn’t been destroyed, or how Agravaine had died, or anything but that.

“HE _WHAT_?!” Arthur turned and stalked out of the room, heading in the direction of the dungeons.

“Oh dear,” Gaius murmured, and then reached forward quickly to catch a bottle of hemlock that had been rattled from its spot by Arthur’s outburst. 


	4. Part 4

Gwaine was wandering aimlessly down the halls with Elyan, typical guard duty, when a furious Arthur stalked passed them in the direction of the dungeons, muttering obscenities under his breath.

“Sire?” Elyan asked, eyeing the King’s dark expression warily.

The royal didn’t even hear him, stalking past as if the two of them were invisible.

The dark-skinned knight raised an eyebrow. “What’s with him?”

Gwaine stared at the retreating back of his liege, suspicion stirring in his gut. “Cover for me,” he told the other Knight, clapping him on the shoulder, and then took off after the King.

“Wha…? Gwaine!” Elyan called after him furiously. “If Arthur finds out you’re skipping guard duty, he’ll put you in the stocks!”

“Cover for me!” Gwaine yelled back over his shoulder.

“How the hell am I supposed to…?”

The brother of the Queen didn’t finish the sentence, watching Gwaine’s red cape disappear around the corner, and sighed. That was it. He was never going to buy Gwaine a drink ever again. Stupid annoying drunkard…

* * *

 

Gwaine caught up with Arthur when he was nearly at the stairs down to the dungeon, and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder to stop him in his tracks, out of breath and wheezing.

The King leapt away, hand going to his sword, and shot the Knight a glare so fierce it could have boiled lead.

He jumped out of the way, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Really, Arthur! What’s up with you?”

The royal’s jaw clenched. “He _released the Great Dragon._ ”

“Who?” Gwaine asked blankly.

“Merlin, you idiot! He released the Great Dragon. Gaius just told me.” He turned to head down the staircase.

Gathering his wits at the last second, the Knight clamped a hand down on his shoulder again, stopping him. “Woah! You’re supposed to _pretend_ to be angry with him, Arthur, not _really_ be angry with him!”

The King tried to shrug out of his grasp, but Gwaine held tight.

“Stop it,” the Knight growled, making it an order. “I’m not going to let you go down and see Merlin when you’re like this.”

“You have _no_ right to tell me what to do!” Arthur hissed back.

Gwaine punched him in the jaw.

The King reeled back, stunned, and seemed to snap out of his anger. “What the hell was that for?”

“Merlin is a bloody _Dragonlord_ , Arthur! If he released the Great Dragon, it was for a good reason! And getting angry at him is not going to help him come out of that cell!”

“Maybe I don’t _want_ him to come out anymore!”

Gwaine stared at him for a long second. “Don’t tell me you really mean that.”

Arthur glared back at him, and then his gaze faltered, and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair, glancing away. “No… no, I don’t.”

“Then calm down! Merlin might have magic, but even you’ve had to do some less than honourable things for the greater good sometimes. If he released the Great Dragon, he had a reason, and you can’t just get angry without actually _talking_ to him. Don’t expect everything to be sunshine and daisies. It won’t be. As innocent as Merlin might look, if he’s been protecting you all this time, he’s probably done a lot of things that he’s been less than proud of. And you might remember that Merlin went with you to fight the dragon, and that bit where you passed out and woke up and he told you that you killed it was probably a lie.”

Arthur looked a bit stunned at that. “I always thought it was a bit odd that I didn’t remember killing it,” he stated ponderously.

“Exactly,” Gwaine grinned at him, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now go back to _pretending_ to be angry, Princess. It’ll be better for all of us.”

“I’m King now, you know,” Arthur grumbled. “You can’t call me Princess.”

“Well I can’t very well call you Queen. That’s Gwen.”

The King glared at him and rubbed his jaw, and then grimaced. “That bloody _hurt_ , Gwaine.”

The Knight shrugged and contemplated the slight bruise. “You’ve had worse.” He pulled his flask from his side and took a swig before turning away from the King, heading back to Elyan. “There’s my good deed for the day.”

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten you’re supposed to be on guard duty, Gwaine!” Arthur called after him. “I can put you in the stocks for that.”

“Not to worry, sire, I’ve heard that Merlin’s going to be occupying them,” he yelled back.

“I can always have a second set built!”

Gwaine grimaced. Trust the bastard to always have the last word. 

* * *

Arthur stared at the retreating back of his best knight, feeling a mix of gratitude and annoyance, as well as pain. There was a point when his Knights were a little _too_ courageous. He rubbed his bruised jaw, grimacing, and then turned back to the stairway that led down to the dungeons. 

The King took a deep breath, and prepared himself. He could pretend to be angry, couldn’t he? Of course he could, he was the King of Camelot, wasn’t he? He could do anything he set his mind to. He gathered together the remnants of his previous anger and adopted a glare once more.

It must have worked, because the guards on duty leapt to attention the second they saw him, wary expressions on their faces, and seemed suitably relieved when he stalked past them.

 _See? Easy._ He allowed himself a moment to bask in pride, and then schooled himself as he halted before Merlin’s cell.

The brunette was sitting on the cot in the cell, staring contemplatively into the distance, and startled when he saw his King’s expression. “Ar..Arthur?”

“You RELEASED THE GREAT DRAGON?!” he growled, nearly leaning forward to slam his fists into the bars, before remembering the curse that Gwaine had gotten the force of and snatching his hands away.

Merlin stood, his blue eyes wide with fear. He was, for a moment, rather proud of his acting abilities. “Arthur, I can explain!” he began.

Arthur cut him off. “I don’t _care_! People _died_ , Merlin! And that was your fault!”

“But…” The King was horrified to see tears welling in his manservant’s eyes, and a spasm of guilt shot through his heart.

 _No,_ he growled to himself, _If he wants a reaction, he’s going to get a reaction._ “I _trusted_ you, Merlin. How could you do this to me? To Camelot? You are a traitor to the crown.” He turned away and punched the stone wall, unable to look at his friend as the tears began spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered.

“ _Sorry_ isn’t good enough, _Mer_ lin!” He turned back to the warlock, using all of his resolve to keep his eyes blazing with anger, while inside he wanted to rip off the door of the cell and comfort the man, tell him he was sorry.

“I…I understand,” Merlin managed, his voice broken. “What are you going to do to me?”

Arthur’s heart broke, and he turned away, struggling to keep his voice cold. “You will be executed at dawn.”

As he strode out of the dungeon, past the wide-eyed guards, he had to use all his self-control not to turn back as he heard his best friend succumb to heart-wrenching sobs.

 _You had to do it,_ he told himself. _This is what he wanted. You’re not really going to execute him. You just need to get him out of that cell._

He had a sudden urge to cry. _King’s do_ not _cry,_ he told himself, clenching his jaw.

_But… God… he really believed me, didn’t he?_


	5. Part 5

“I can’t believe he actually believed me,” Arthur was pacing Gaius’s chambers again, running his hands almost frantically through his hair. “Am I that much like my father?”

The physician shot a look at the vials on his table, which were rattling once more. One of these days he was going to find a carpenter to put a lip on all his tables so nothing could fall off, to protect all of his precious potions from pacing, frantically gesturing youngsters. “You are very different from your father, sire. Especially since you were only acting. 

“Acting a little too well, I should say,” Arthur mumbled, almost to himself. “I made him _cry_ , Gaius. He actually thinks I’m going to kill him come morning.”

“But you’re not,” the physician stated calmly. “You’re essentially tricking him into coming out of the cell. It’s nothing more than a rouse.”

“I know,” the young king muttered. “But I didn’t really think he’d believe me, not just like that.”

The elderly man stood and carefully rearranged some of the vials so they weren’t so close to the edge, and then laid a hand on Arthur’s arm. “He’ll be fine, sire. We just need him to come out of the cell, and to feel like all his worrying was ‘worth it’, as he said. I’d say you’ve fulfilled both elements of that.”

The younger man stopped pacing and sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and laid a hand on the elderly man’s shoulder. “Good night, Gaius.”

The physician inclined his head respectfully, and the King left, leaving the elderly man to wonder when he had become the unofficial fatherly figure to the royal family. He shook his head and turned back to his potions. Young people these days.

* * *

 

When Arthur reached his chambers, a servant he didn’t know the name of was just finishing turning back the covers on his bed. The fire was exactly how he liked it, the candles lit, everything cleaned so that it practically sparkled, so unlike what he was normally used to. Merlin wasn’t truly incompetent; he just knew that if Arthur didn’t have something to yell about, he’d have no other way to vent his frustrations in general. Or at least that’s how the sorcerer had rationalized it to him once. He dismissed the not-Merlin and stood in the center of his room, feeling inexplicably empty inside.

On a whim, he strode to the window and looked out. In the light of the few remaining rays of sunlight, and helped along by torches, people were stacking the wood for the pyre. He could see the stake that Merlin was supposed to be tied to, and he shuddered, before wrenching the curtains closed with such force that the rod on which they hung groaned and nearly loosed itself from the wall.

The King ran his hands over his face, feeling hollow. He glanced at the bed, with its covers turned back invitingly, and found he had no desire to lie in it.

He turned away and walked through the doors of the King’s chambers which led to the Queen’s, needing to be with the only person besides Merlin who would not find him weak for admitting that he couldn’t face this night alone.

* * *

 

The King woke early from a fitful sleep, not surprised that somewhere amongst all his nightmares and restless turning he had kicked aside the blankets so that his wife was now ensconced in them all. She had a rather endearing habit of stealing them from him in her sleep, a surprisingly selfish tendency in a person who was otherwise so selfless. A spike of adoration made it past the worry and fear in his heart, and he leaned over to press a light kiss to Gwen’s forehead, before getting up and going to the window.

The fully built pyre that marred the smooth cobbles of the castle courtyard glared back at him in the pre-dawn light, and he spent a minute gazing at it with a hollow feeling in his chest, before wrenching his gaze away. He went back to his own chambers, thankful for the curtains that blocked the view through the window, and was annoyed to find that his new manservant was already there.

Merlin could _never_ be there on time, even if his life depended on it. Merlin also had a tendency to say inappropriate, hilarious things when he discovered that Arthur had spent the night elsewhere, and the bootlicker that had replaced him never said anything more than “yes, sire,” and “no, sire” and “right away, sire.” It was annoying, not to mention dreadfully boring.

He ate his breakfast in a silence that felt unbelievably awkward - really, who stood there and just _watched_ someone eat? And he was extremely thankful when someone knocked at his door.

“Enter,” he said, and tried to pretend that the meal was actually appetizing as whoever it was came into the room.

“Ah, Sir Gwaine, what is it?” He gave up the pretense of actually being hungry and pushed the plate away.

The knight shot a glance at the manservant, and the King took the hint, dismissing him. When the man had left, Gwaine returned his gaze to Arthur.

“Merlin’s being… unusually cooperative,” the knight stated.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just… he’s a warlock. He could fight us all off with ease, but when the guards went to take him out of the dungeon, the door wasn’t even spelled anymore, and he didn’t even bother struggling.”

A flash of guilt struck Arthur, and he winced inwardly. “I might have been a bit… _too_ convincing.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I blamed him for the deaths from the dragon’s attack, and called him a traitor to the crown.”

Gwaine winced, looking caught between anger and sympathy. “You didn’t truly mean it, did you?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, but I apparently acted well enough that he believed me.”

The Knight looked subdued and thoughtful. “Don’t drag it out for too long. He looks… broken, Arthur.”

* * *

 

The King stood on the steps that led from the castle into its courtyard, resisting the urge to start pacing and running his hands through his hair. The sun was creeping up in the sky, dawn nearly upon them. The guards would be bringing Merlin here soon.

He was worried and nervous. The gathering crowds were already looking at him curiously, as he was not standing on the castle’s balcony like most royals did during executions. _Let_ _them wonder,_ he thought, _I need to be close enough to intervene when the time comes._ At any rate, they’d be looking at him more curiously in a while, when he refused to execute a known sorcerer and lifted the ban on magic.

His hands twitched, and he rebuked himself for having not broken his nervous habits earlier. He jumped a bit when a warm hand slid into his own, and then relaxed when he saw Guinevere at his side, smiling encouragingly. She knew everything, though she hadn’t been too impressed about the only solution being one that left Merlin devastated and alone overnight.

A bell began to toll in the distance, and Arthur tensed again, recognizing them as signalling the arrival of the true dawn. He turned, and the entire crowd with him, as the doors to the castle swung open and the guards marched out, leading Merlin between them in chains.

The warlock’s eyes locked with Arthur’s, and something within the King withered as he saw the deadness in them, the lack of sparkle and mirth, the red rims and dark shadows beneath the blue gaze a stark contrast to his ivory skin.

He wanted to run to him, tell him it was all lie, but his feet were frozen to the steps as the group walked past, their prisoner compliant in their grasp, gaze now fixed on the ground.

He made no resistance as the guards led him up to the stake and tied him there.

Arthur stared at him. The man was a warlock, a _powerful_ warlock. He could throw men aside with the flick of his hand, turn weapons into harmless flowers, conjure fire that took shape and flew. And yet he just stood there, unresisting, uncaring.

 _He’s just going to let it happen,_ the King realized, staring at him in shock. _He’s not going to fight_.

His feet were moving before he even registered _wanting_ to move, his hand slipping from Guinevere’s. In seconds he was standing before his friend, having shoved aside the guards in his need to be there, to _make_ the man look at him.

He grabbed the brunette’s shoulders and shook him.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He yelled, emotions spilling out in his voice, fear and horror and anger.

The warlock looked at him wide-eyed, and Arthur was relieved, so relieved, to see a hint of real feeling in that gaze.

“Wha…?” The brunette spluttered, staring at him, confused.

“YOU’RE A WARLOCK, YOU IDIOT!” He shook him again, violently. “YOU COULD HAVE US ALL ON OUR BACKS IN AN INSTANT, SO WHAT THE _HELL_ DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

Merlin just stared at him, jaw slack with shock. “Arthur… I don’t…”

“I WAS _LYING_ , YOU IMBECILE! YOU TOLD ME YOU WANTED A REACTION! How could you… not fighting… you were just going to let me…” His voice failed him, and he pulled away, before ripping his sword out of his sheath and hacking at the bonds that held the man to the stake.

As they fell away, he grabbed the warlock and pulled him off the stack of wood, before wrenching him into his arms and burying his face in the man’s hair. “I could never kill you. How could you even _think_ that? You told me you wanted a reaction… I just wanted you to come out of that cell.” He hugged him tighter, unashamed of the public display of affection, no longer caring.

The slender man was unresponsive for a moment, apparently frozen with shock, and then his hands, which were still chained together, fisted in Arthur’s tunic and he looked up at him. “You… you were lying?”

The King’s eyes prickled, and he blinked rapidly a couple times. “Of course I was, but we are going to sit down and you are going to tell me _everything_ , whether it has to do with dragons or sorcerers or druids or magic beast, that has happened to you.”

“Al…alright,” the warlock managed, looking to be in shock.

Arthur suddenly seemed to realize he was still hugging the man, and self-consciously stepped back, sweeping the courtyard with his gaze to see that everyone there was muttering and staring. He looked back at Merlin and saw the chains on his wrists, and his eyes suddenly flashed with anger.

“Get those bloody things off him!” he growled, and the nearest guard scrambled to find his key ring.

As he approached, though, Merlin murmured, “Abricaþ benda,” and the chains clattered to the ground. Arthur instantly grabbed his wrists, running his thumbs over the light bruising the metal cuffs had already caused.

“I’m sorry,” he said with feeling.

“It’s alright,” Merlin said quietly, the beginning of a smile curving his lips. “I think we’re even now.”

“It’s not a competition, _Mer_ lin,” he attempted to return to their normal banter, and his gaze fell on the pyre. “Why don’t you burn that horrible thing? I never want to see one ever again.”

The warlock grinned, and the expression was so familiar, so alive, that Arthur’s heart seemed to swell. “As you wish. Forbearnan!”

The pyre exploded into flames, faster than it ever could have naturally, shooting sparks high into the air.

“And Merlin?” Arthur asked, squeezing the man’s shoulder.

The warlock looked at him, and the King gave him a glare. “ _Never again_ ,” he growled.

The brunette raised an eyebrow. “Are you ordering me not to die?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Didn’t realize you cared.”

“Idiot,” the King ruffled his hair affectionately, knuckles rubbing against his skull.

“Ow! Arthur!” He ducked away, and when he’d managed a safe distance, shot a half-hearted glare at the King, before grinning in that infectious way of his. “Prat!”

“Imbecile!”

“Clot-pole!”

“That’s not even a word, Merlin.”

“Dollophead!”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“Bone idle toa…”

“That’s it!” And, in front of most of the population of Camelot, he tackled his manservant to the cobbles. 


	6. Epilogue

Arthur, I am _not_ going out there,” Merlin hissed, attempting to struggle out of the King’s grasp.

“ _Mer_ lin, I have to publicly make you Court Sorcerer. Really, you’ve faced down dragons! How scary is this?” He attempted to pull the reluctant sorcerer out onto the balcony again.

“A lot scarier,” the warlock muttered on his breath. Then, louder, “I am _not_ going out there! Half of Camelot must be out there!”

Arthur gave him an exasperated look. “No, Merlin. _All_ of Camelot is out there, and you’re keeping them waiting!”

The sorcerer went impossibly paler. The man really needed to spend more time in the sun. “ _All_ of Camelot?” he squeaked.

“What did you think it was going to be? A handful of drunkards?” The King’s gaze was incredulous. “I just lifted the ban on magic. People are curious to see you.”

“Why can’t we just do it in the throne room? I don’t want to go out there.” He started struggling again, but Arthur kept his hand on the man’s wrist in a vice-like grip.

“Because, _Mer_ lin, people need to know that there’s a powerful sorcerer on _our_ side.”

The warlock was wide-eyed and frantic, like an animal caught in a trap. “I… I can’t do this. What if I trip? Or say something stupid?”

“For God’s sakes! I’m going to introduce you, you can do some flashy impressive magic, and then we can come back here. It’ll take all of five minutes!”

“What if my magic doesn’t work? It doesn’t sometimes, you know!”

“Oh, for…” He grabbed the warlock’s other wrist and gave a mighty heave. “Just come on!” Taken off balance, he was able to drag him the last couple feet through the doors onto the balcony.

Merlin froze, caught in the gazes of the hundreds of people who were crowded into the courtyard below, looking so pale that his skin resembled ivory, a stark contrast to his dark hair and the deep red of his new _silk_ neckerchief. Gwen had decided that his new status deserved better clothes, and the warlock was fitted out in much the same outfit as he always wore, just with better quality fabrics. Supple leather boots and loose-fitting trousers in sturdy fabric, a fitted jacket over a blue shirt. A gold chain glinted beneath the neckerchief, apparently some amulet the warlock had discovered in the castle vaults. He looked more of a prince than a servant, though at the moment he had none of the poise of royalty.

Arthur grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder, a silent reminder not to worry, though he knew the man wouldn’t listen, and then turned to his people.

“People of Camelot, I present to you… your Grand Court Sorcerer!” He gestured to Merlin, and the warlock gave him a shaky smile, before speaking the same spell that he had to light the pyre.

“Forbearnan!” But rather than lighting something on fire, suddenly a mixture of light and blue flames lifted from the man’s outspread hands, and then suddenly seemed to explode in a cacophony of shining color. Hundreds of birds made of blue fire took flight and soared among the people, trailing showers of harmless sparks overhead.

After the initial gasp of shock, the crowd collectively burst into applause, and Merlin managed to smile and give a (somewhat) graceful bow before the two of them retreated back into the castle.

The warlock collapsed against a wall as soon as they were out of sight, looking as if he’d just narrowly escaped death or something equally dreadful.

“See?” Arthur said, grinning at him. “That wasn’t so bad!”

Merlin drew himself up straight and glared at him. “I hate you,” he said, but there was no fire in his gaze as he turned and stalked away.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going? We have to meet with the council and discuss magical law!”

“I’ve had quite enough duties for today!” Merlin called over his shoulder.

“ _Mer_ lin, get back here!”

“Not happening!”

“I’m the King, you idiot. You have to do as I say!”

The man turned around and shot him an incredulous look, grinning. “Really, Arthur, when have I ever done as you say?” 


End file.
